


Coronation

by muse_of_mbaku



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Female Character of Color, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 13:43:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14955753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muse_of_mbaku/pseuds/muse_of_mbaku
Summary: Amira, official speechwriter for Wakanda, is charged with honoring the nation's new King.





	Coronation

The new king, if you’d ever allow yourself to truly attach that title to his name, was a showoff. It had been a scant forty-eight hours since he’d torn out the heart of the nation. King T’Challa’s body hadn’t been recovered and word had spread searching for him was strictly forbidden. Instead of allowing the surviving members of the royal family the dignity of a proper burial, King N’Jadaka’s rage had sent them into hiding. Or so the citizens had hoped. They’d prayed to Bast in small groups away from the watchful eyes of guards and traitors. They prayed for the Queen and the Princess to find comfort and solace in the hollowing absence of their son, their brother, their pride. And they prayed for themselves in the face of a war they knew was coming because colonizers never gave up without a fight. 

Amira, sick of it all, couldn’t concentrate on the task at hand. She could not care less about writing the flowery coronation announcement as ordered. She’d reveled in the task when it had come to T’Challas’s ascension to the throne. It had been a simple proclamation which honored his father’s memory, the history of Wakanda, and declared his hope for the nation’s future. This, the utterly self-indulgent madness of that man, was sickening. It was a condemnation of the country she loved, an accusation about the honor of her deceased king, and a radical shift to all Wakanda stood for. She hated it and she hated him. No matter the distaste coursing through her at the moment, she was no fool. She valued her life enough to at least try to stomach the task. 

Understanding that he now had resources beyond his wildest dreams, N’Jadaka had nearly shutdown daily life to celebrate himself. From the time day broke until the time it dipped below the horizon, he pushed his subjects to transform the grand ballroom into a gaudy, golden mess. Panthers had been replaced with jaguars and the subtle elegance of the palace was now loud in ways that jarred the eyes and the ears. It was tacky and each time she walked into the thick of it, she ground her teeth. 

“Your highness,” the words nearly stuck in her craw. “The final draft of the proclamation is complete. Would you like to review it?” Amira kept her eyes respectfully low. Even if she wanted to spit on the black boots they rested on. 

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. One leg was slung over an arm of the throne. He looked bored and very far from regal. 

“Nah. You got this baby girl. I read that shit you did for old dude. If you can make that trash sound good, I don’t need to.”

She nodded curtly and made her exit. 

***  
Amira felt sick. It seemed the whole of Wakanda was stuffed into the stifling confines of the ballroom. Her eyes swept over the black linen draped tables with their massive towers of gilded roses. She eyed the vibranium embroidered fabric hung in wide swathes over the throne. Her attention landed on the nervous small talk pockets of people made, their hands gripped tightly against glasses of liquor and wine, chewing food and not tasting it. And finally, her gaze found the “king”. He lorded over the crowd from a balcony, his hands braced against the railing. He looked like a child admiring his handiwork after arranging action figures and dolls. The hate rose again.

Time seemed to drag from cocktail hour to dinner to dessert to the official procession which brought N’Jadaka from his perch down to “his” throne. Before she knew it, all attention focused on her. 

_For generations Wakanda has been built upon the tenants of pride, family, self-sacrifice, and love. Our nation has survived while the world has crumbled for that very reason. We have found our way in a universe that is losing its bearings. We have survived by respecting the land upon which we stand, the ancestors from which we came, and the future we are building for our children._

She could see the corners of the N’Jadaka’s mouth lift. He was so full of himself. Amira would have given anything to take his life as he’d taken T’Challa’s. 

_But Wakanda has also survived by fiercely protecting what belongs to us. Our lives are valuable above all else. The most important of these lives is that of our sovereign leader._

He’d leaned forward, his lips now spread in a wicked grin. 

_All praises are due to our king. King T’Challa Udaku, son of T’Chaka Udaku. The Black Panther lives!_

You heard his rage explode. Felt the heat of his body as he rushed towards you. Refused to flinch when his hand unsheathed the blade from his back. Smiled as it glinted in the brightness of that gaudy coronation. 

_Wakdanda Forever!_

Died with your country falling from your lips.


End file.
